The Time Between
by Dax's10thHost
Summary: For five months, they never noticed something was wrong. Now, all they can do is watch her... and wait. Another "Time on My Hands" fic. Multi-chap. COMPLETE
1. Janeway

**Disclaimer:** I do not own nor claim to own any of the following characters, places, or events. Just the story.

**Author's Note:** Set in the aftermath of season 5's "Extreme Risk." Each chapter written in a response to Laura W's "Time on My Hands" ficlet challenge on VAMB. Each opening sentence is a variation of her prompt, "I've never had so much time on my hands."

* * *

The Time Between  
by Dax's10thHost

I've never forced so much time on her hands.

She needs it, I know that. Healing takes time, and she's not going to find it barking orders in Engineering. Or is she?

It frightens me to think of what she's been doing for the past five months. Alone and broken and too numb to know the difference between staying alive and flirting with death, she endured five months without any of us thinking something was wrong.

How could I have let this happen?

I thought I was doing so well, holding us together with a little help from Neelix and the occasional beam-down to a friendly planet. Everything was fine and dandy, moving right along and functioning with an efficiency even Seven would emulate.

And then this happened—_has been_ happening—and I'm suddenly left here in the ashes of my illusion with nothing but the future to console me. Because heavens know, the past is hardly comforting.

Why did it take me so long to notice? A week is understandable, two weeks are tolerable, but five _months_? Unacceptable. Inexcusable for all of us, but me most of all. How could I not have noticed something was wrong? Was I so blinded by my goal of getting us home that I let my chief engineer slip through the cracks of my concern? I can't accept that I didn't notice her reticence, her closed-off expressions and the absence from crew functions.

But I_ did_, and that's the problem.

Am I being too harsh? Perhaps. Tom tells me he only noticed in the past few weeks. If she can fool Tom, she can fool anybody. But I'm the Captain, and I can't let my crew make excuses for me. I cannot. It's unacceptable.

I can't stop thinking about her, about the holodeck simulations and the brutality that flashed before my eyes when Chakotay and I reviewed them. Cardassians twice her size, river rapids capable of killing a Nausicaan, shuttle dives that ran the risk of ripping apart tritanium hulls—it sickens me to think that she had to turn to _this_ to know she was still alive.

When did it start? I asked Chakotay. When did she become this desperate?

His answer was a knife to my gut.

One day, he said. One day, and she was gone. Lost in her fracturing, leeching strength from blood and broken bones and pain, hungry pain.

Are we really that incapable of consoling her? Are we truly that horrible of a family, that we didn't notice when one of our dearest members fell victim to depression? Because she was a victim. A savaged, brutalized, and spirit-broken victim.

I'll never forgive myself for what happened to her.

And perhaps that's why I've ordered her off active duty, so that I can make up for all those weeks I never watched her, never cared enough to touch her and see her wince when my hands hit a bruise or aggravated a fractured bone. Five months, and I just let her die that slow, terrible death of desperation. Alone. Looked over. Forgotten.

I won't forget her anymore. Not after what happened. I've sworn I'll watch her for the next two weeks, and the best way I know to do that is to keep her away from Engineering. At least here, in my ready room, I can watch her pace the floor of her quarters and rake her hands through her hair. At least this way I can witness the caged quality to her movements and know that she's all right, that she's still here, with us, and not bleeding out in a holodeck somewhere.

She'll never be alone again. Not after what happened.

But she is alone, Kathryn, that voice inside my head says. You've taken away her friends and subordinates and forced her off active duty—wrenched from her the one thing that matters most to her in this life. She's more alone now than she was twenty hours ago in that holodeck where Chakotay left her to grieve. What are you doing, confining her to quarters? She's not your prisoner. Let her go, Kathryn. Let her go. She'll heal. It just takes time.

Time.

Yes. It just takes a little time.


	2. Chakotay

She doesn't know what to do with all this time on her hands.

Kathryn should know better than to confine her to her quarters. What engineer is healthy away from her warp core? Especially B'Elanna. This ship is home to her, and Engineering is more familiar to her than her own bed. She needs to be back at work, back to flitting from console to console, back to crawling on all fours in Jeffries tubes, back to _normal_.

Because these last five months have been anything but normal for her.

I sit on the bridge and think, think about all that she's gone through, and wonder—could I have prevented it? Did she hide any signs of the depression whenever I was around, or was I just too blind to see them? What was so important to me that I let my closest friend slip through my thoughts? I should have known something was wrong. After six years of knowing her, I should have sensed it.

Isn't that what father figures do?

I can't help but feel that I've failed her, just like John Torres failed her all those years ago. I don't know the details—she hasn't told anybody, and probably never will—but I know enough to kick myself over my inattention.

What if I had been able to stop her? What if I'd paused and looked deeper in her eyes that day, stayed there with her in the hours following the news? What if I'd put aside my own grief—or better yet embraced it—and let it buoy us both? Why did I leave her to flounder in her emotions, when I should have been there to hold her?

Granted, she wouldn't have cried on my shoulder. But at least I could've taken a few punches.

But no. I didn't. Couldn't. Wouldn't?

Why did I leave?

I can't stop thinking about the look on her face when I dragged her into that holodeck. As if I'd betrayed her, cast her soul to the demons or thrust her deepest fears in her face and backed her into a corner. And I suppose that I did. In a way. Why else would she have bucked and bit and scratched so violently?

I justify myself by saying it had to be done, and it did. She needed someone to lance the wound before it could start to heal. But I took no pleasure in it. I admit, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I thought she was trying to kill herself—we all did. But instead… what she told me was more devastating than anything I could have imagined.

_I'm trying to see if I'm still alive._

Oh, B'Elanna. What has happened to you? Why have you shut us out like this? Why have you shut _me_ out like this?

Or have _I_ been the one to shut _her_ out?

The more I think about it, the more I'm inclined to believe the latter. I've been so busy with _Voyager_ and crew assignments and keeping up with Neelix's latest kitchen concoction that I haven't given the time to personal relationships that I used to. In the Maquis, friendship—brotherhood—was a given. You didn't have to express it, or sit and take a meal with someone for them to know that you would die for them. That you cared about them and had their back in any situation.

But _Voyager_… _Voyager_ is different. Here, we face death, but not every day. And not because we're fighting for something we believe in, either. True, we're fighting to get home. But we're fighting for ourselves, and somehow, that is never as potent as fighting for those who can't.

Here, we have the time to cultivate relationships, which also means we have the time to let those relationships die. Here, friendships take time, and brotherhood is merely the unspoken current that runs through us until the next near-death experience strikes. Brotherhood holds us together, but friendship is what keeps us going.

And I have been a terrible friend.

Funny, how I worry so much about B'Elanna and how she passes the time on her hands. Really, I should be worrying about my time, and what I'm doing with it.

Or what I'm not.


	3. Tom

It's not often that she finds this much time on her hands. Normally, I'd call for a celebration. Clear the holodeck, bribe the Doc out of his voice lessons, and wheedle my way into Chakotay's good graces so B'Elanna and I could have a week of uninterrupted bliss.

But the holodeck is the last place I want her right now.

I can't believe I didn't see it. I mean, I knew something was wrong. I picked up on that—two weeks ago.

It's not right—I love her. I should have known. I should have dropped in on her at odd times and caught her with the dermal regenerator, or wondered harder just why she was pulling so much overtime, or heck, even noticed her scars. Really, how could I have missed them?

But I did miss them. And it makes me sick.

What kind of idiot am I to have missed this? She's not been right for months, Chakotay said. Months, and I never noticed.

It kills me to think of all she's gone through. Her friends, her mentors—the closest thing to family she had in the Alpha Quadrant, all gone. Dead, slaughtered, and by and enemy she doesn't even know. The Dominion—what kind of terror are they anyway? What do they look like, how do they move? Are they sibilant and cunning, like the Cardassians, or precise and brutal, like the Borg? Or are they far more insidious, giving the appearance of calm and friendly while compiling ways to kill you as you speak?

These questions never bothered me before, not until I found out about B'Elanna. But once Janeway called me in there, once I saw Bee's deadened eyes and noticed the chronic slump of her shoulders, they bombarded me. She's the kind of person who has to know what's going on. She hates being out of the loop, unable to place something or identify a problem. Not knowing who killed her friends, not being able to pin a face to these Dominion people—I can only imagine how it's eating at her. No wonder she turned to the Cardassians on the holodeck.

Sometimes I wonder if I could have stopped it. Made a difference just by stopping and listening to her, or at the very least making her talk when she didn't want to. Hindsight is twenty-twenty they say, but I can't help but wonder if I was really as blind as I think I was. Did I see more that day in Astrometrics and just ignore it in favor of my own pain? Did I push aside her wounds just so I could lick mine, and use her attention to salve my injured pride when her heart was bleeding out before me?

I can't be sure, but that doesn't excuse me. I love her, and I let her down. Saying I'm human isn't an excuse. It never was, never is, and never will be enough to pardon the mistakes I've made, the lies I've told, the people I've hurt, used, ignored. I'd like to think that I've changed since Caldik Prime, but sometimes I wonder. Am I still so engrossed in myself and my own problems that I can't see past the color of my reputation?

The thought sickens me, but I can't deny it. At least, not when I think of her and the way she almost died—_died_—just to find out if she was alive.

Would my love have been enough to stop her?

As much as I want to, I can't keep sitting here, scourging myself for the past and stagnating in the present. Questioning what happened is easy; doing something about it isn't. It took me three months to confess the truth about the shuttle accident and clear Bruno's name.

How long will it take me to clear B'Elanna's?

I've made mistakes, I've overlooked the outcast, I've done things I'm not proud of and said things I wish I could take back. I've taken her for granted, dilly-dallied in my commitments, and given her far less than she's deserved in this year we've been together.

But since when have I let that stop me?

I love her, love her like life. I can't make it up to her, but I can sure as heck try.


	4. Harry

The more time I find on my hands, the more I fear the thought of seeing her.

She tried to kill herself. _Kill_ herself. I knew she was volatile, but not that volatile. I mean, suicide? Tom and the Commander won't call it that, but that's what it is. B'Elanna tried to kill herself—and not just once. Dozens of times.

And that scares me.

They call me the young one, the green ensign, the wet-behind-the-ears, over-eager, untried officer. But I'm not—not anymore—and it irks me that they still pin that title to me. Maybe that's why I'm so reluctant to talk about it. The Incident, I mean.

I can't believe Chakotay let her on the _Flyer_. What if she'd just been trying to kill herself again? She would have killed us all—Tom included. And she claims to love him.

I can't say any of this out loud, because they'd court marshal me for it. Betrayal, distrust, leaping to conclusions without all the facts. I suppose I am, but what of it? Doesn't everyone, at some point in his or her life? So why not me? Why does Harry Kim have to be perfect all the time? So what if I'm scared of her? Somebody should be. She's dangerous. I love her, but she's dangerous. What if she's not better? What if she just put on a show in the _Flyer_ to get back on duty, to go back to pretending? She's done it for the past five months—why not the next five?

Tom went to see her this afternoon. The Commander went yesterday; I expect the Captain to go tomorrow. Or maybe tonight. Then they'll look to me, and I'll have to decide.

Am I still her friend? Of course. Do I trust her? Absolutely not.

We've been through so much together—how could she have kept this from us? From me? from Tom? from _Chakotay_? It doesn't make sense. Why did she do it?

They're all asking themselves why they didn't notice. I can see them beating themselves up, day after day, and it makes me sick. Sure, we didn't notice, bad us. But what about _B'Elanna_? What about _her_ actions? Why didn't she tell us? Why did she try to _kill_ herself?

Chakotay says she was trying to feel, trying to make sure she was still alive. He says that she shut down after the news of the massacre, and that pain became her only way of breathing.

I don't believe him.

If Tom knew about this… I don't know what he'd do. But it wouldn't be good. So I have to keep quiet. I can't let anyone guess my feelings, or uncover my distrust. They'd rebel, I know that much. They'd call my out on my loyalties, ask how I can say and think and feel these things about one of my closest friends in the quadrant.

All I can offer is this—it's because I love her so much that I don't trust her.


	5. Seven, Tuvok, & the Doctor

It is good to see Lieutenant Torres with something other than time on her hands. The rising efficiency levels in Engineering reflect her importance to this crew, and I am… glad to have her functioning again. However, I am not so certain that hurling a hyperspanner across Astrometrics is the best way to express frustration. A simple "this console is not working" would be sufficient. The Doctor says her temper is a promise of the healing to come.

I wish she would heal faster.

Naomi Wildman made a curious observation yesterday. She said that _Voyager_ was sad that B'Elanna was in trouble. I told her that _Voyager_ was an _Intrepid_-class starship of impeccable design and endurance, but was incapable of exhibiting human emotion.

She planted her feet and insisted that the ship was sad.

A power fluctuation in Astrometrics' main energy grid only strengthened her resolve, and she made certain that I noted the date and time of the fluctuation's demise. Upon my announcement this morning, she smiled broadly.

The variance ceased exactly three-point-nine seconds after the Captain cleared Lieutenant Torres for active duty today.

I suppose, now that I consider it, that life aboard _Voyager_ was… strange without Lieutenant Torres in her usual position. I am pleased that she is back. As disagreeable as she can be at times, I understand her importance to _Voyager_'s existence now.

* * *

Security Officer's Log, Stardate 52118.4

After a brief suspension, Lieutenant Torres has resumed active duty. The Captain remarked that confining her to quarters was an overly cautious move on her part, and that the ship was suffering without her. I concurred.

Now, three days later, _Voyager_'s warp core is at peak efficiency, the newly commissioned _Delta Flyer_ is fully operational, and the Doctor has had a sudden influx of patients. He claims they are suffering from mild head trauma due to hurled hyperspanners and excessive yelling, but I have yet to investigate. If the injuries escalate to broken bones, I will send an officer to compose a report.

For now, life aboard _Voyager _is, in the words of Mr. Paris, "just peachy."

End log.

* * *

Time is a dangerous weapon in an idle engineer's hands.

I discovered this upon activation yesterday morning. Thankfully, no one but Mike Ayala was there to witness my mortification. I'm certain that my secret is safe with him.

For now, I'm occupying myself with treating a myriad of headache victims pouring into my sickbay. Apparently, I'm not alone in my misery; B'Elanna has been busy.

Very busy.

When juxtaposed with her former condition, I can't complain about her mood shift. Rather, I shouldn't. But I am.

You would too, if you woke up dancing the hula in a grass skirt and coconuts.


	6. Neelix

Time on my hands isn't something I waste on worry, and they shouldn't either. B'Elanna will be fine. It will take time, yes. All healing does. Even when you've merely stuck yourself on a thorn, the pain won't vanish overnight. They don't seem to understand this concept, but I suppose that's okay.

Like everything, it will take time.

They're frightened for her, and for themselves, and I can understand that. What she went through wasn't easy. I can only imagine how they're beating themselves up, using all the usual excuses and hindsight enhanced. I know I certainly did.

But the funny thing is, harping on the past never does you any good. Only makes you more miserable before it's all over.

I suppose they'll learn this. Eventually. Maybe I've just had a lot of practice.

Losing a friend is a hard thing to take; losing family is even harder. But to lose them all—at once? Yes. I know what that's like. I know the anguish B'Elanna felt, is feeling. Will probably feel for the rest of her life, if not so concentrated as now. I know the guilt that courses through her veins whenever she thinks of them and asks—_why, why not me? Why wasn't I there to die with them? I'm a coward, so far away. A coward, coward, coward._

I know all these things, but I don't say them, because she doesn't need sympathy pats and softened eyes. She needs normalcy, hard work, problems to solve and pressure under which to cook and a thousand other details in her daily routine she can't name but misses. She doesn't need to hear "Oh, I know what you're going through." It won't do her any good; it will only hurt her further, through anger and despair and lashing out and consolation in the holodeck.

She needs me to be me, Neelix, and to keep all this inside me. To save it for the collision of eyes from across the room or the lingering smile in the lunch line—quiet moments that speak more than the kindest, most cliché of sympathy lines.

Yes… it will take time, B'Elanna. Time you don't think you have, time you won't want to give, time you'll just have to watch ravel through your fingers like thread from an apron. But when it's all done, you'll look back and be glad. Because it will have made you stronger, in the end.

And strength is always worth it, when it's the right kind. Always.

She's on the road to healing. I know that now. I guessed it before, when the Captain put her back on duty, but her visit tonight confirmed it.

I know because she ordered banana pancakes with maple syrup, and when she took the first bite, she smiled.

Just like old times.


	7. Voyager

Time on her hands… time on her hands… what will she do with all this time on her hands? So they cry, when really they should stop, be silent, listen. Listen to the sounds of the healer's heart mending.

Mending, after five long months. Five long months of shut down and closed doors and pleas to know if she's still alive. Five long months, and I know the worst of it. Better than any of them, I know.

Because I did it to her.

Not on purpose. I didn't want to. But I couldn't refuse her commands. She is the healer—she knows how to get around me. I tried. I tried to warn her. But my warnings only fueled her desperation.

So I gave in, and wept as she hurt herself to live. I wept in my own silent way, unnoticed, forgotten, wept the tears I knew she couldn't. I'm only a ship, only a vessel built to carry them from here to there and back again, but at the same time I am not _only_. I am more, so much more, but they will never know.

Still, it is my duty to carry on as if they do.

And so I wept, wept for the healer as she surrendered to the darkness over and over again in an attempt to heal the great Hurt.

I was weak; I couldn't stop her. I watched, helpless, as her demons toyed with her body like a rag doll, flinging and flipping and contorting her, all so she could feel, feel, _feel_. I heard her wild, empty laughter bouncing off the cave walls and smelled the thick copper of her blood as it shimmered through the air. I felt the crunch of her bones and the sickening thud of bruises painting flesh—oh flesh, weak, empty flesh—and I cried, cried when she could only go back for more, more, more.

And when it became too much, when she couldn't hide her nothingness anymore and they began to see, I rejoiced. Yes, I said, yes. Now my Voyagers will know what to do. They will know how to fix her, how to help her. And even when they didn't, when they let me down, I had hope. Because they knew, and she knew, and I knew, that something wasn't right.

Now I look on her with a smile, a deep, engine-thrumming smile, because she's started feeling once more—feeling without the pain. Gone are the days of darkness, of no one noticing and tears not coming and thrown-wide arms to the Pain, dark Pain. No more turned-off safeties and hissing Cardassians—she's dreaming of leather jackets and soft fingers and whispers along her neck while puzzling around the latest hitches in my circuits.

The morning has come, and my healer is healing at last.

_FIn_


End file.
